


Purgatorio

by Moonsheen



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Action, Adventures in the underworld, All DMC witches are Umbra Witches, Bayonetta witches, Canon - Manga, Canon - Video Game, Canon-Typical Violence, DMC5, Demonology, Demons, Devil May Cry 5, Eva (Devil Mary Cry), Family, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Gen, Past Selves, Post-Canon, The Divine Comedy, also guns, demon hunting, journey through hell, mild body horror, trial by fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-11-26 00:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18173237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsheen/pseuds/Moonsheen
Summary: Post-DMC5. For the Sons of Sparda, the trip through hell is one thing. The trip back...well, that's a bit of a doozy.





	1. Dante in Exile

In the fields of Hell, Dante yawned and cracked his shoulder. The demon’s body collapsed like a great old tree across the sharp pink grasses, the horns of his bull head turned up the blood-stained earth.

“Well, that went a little faster than the guy promised,” said Dante, sheathing his sword as he shook ichor off his hands. “Can’t say it wasn’t a work out. Hey, Vergil. You know who this guy was supposed to be?”

Across from him, Vergil pulled Yamato from the demon’s human face. The blazing eyes went out.

“You really didn’t know?” said Vergil, staring at him.

Dante shrugged, because why the heck would he?

Vergil sighed and flicked blood off of his sword with one casual flick of his wrist.

“Balam,” said Vergil, “A prince of hell. Former, anyway.”

Vergil nodded with some satisfaction at the massive demons form. The hellfires had begun to catch the hair around Balam’s third head --the one shaped like a ram. The beast would be blaze soon enough.

“And me without my marshmallows,” said Dante. He tilted his head consideringly at the damage left in their wake. They’d carved a crater in the planes, and in the distance he could see the demon’s tower crumbling. Vergil had hit it with Yamato in the middle of the fight. “A prince, huh? That a big deal around these parts.”

“He was one of Mundus’ better equipped lackies, yes,” said Vergil, he didn’t quite look like he believed Dante’s ignorance on this matter. Dante grinned.

“See, kind of thought after all that bluster he would’ve lasted a little longer,” he said, “I was just starting to work up a sweat.”

“So sorry to disappoint you, brother. Hell’s been a bit sloppy since changing management.”

“Ain’t that a shame,” said Dante, kicking at the blood red soil. He cocked his head. “So. Wanna tap in for the last round?”

Vergil’s smiled. His hand curled around Yamato’s grip. “That can be arranged.”

Dante might’ve even won that round, except before they even took their battle stances, the ram’s head opened its mouth and began to scream.

Dante turned, genuinely affronted. “Hey, we were having a moment--!”

In the hills, they heard the answering scream of a horse -- not one horse, two, three -- okay more like a thousand. Vergil pivoted on his heel and shot forward, twisting at the last minute to cover Dante’s back as the sound of hooves began to shake the rocks.

“Did I mention Balam was in command of a good half of Hell’s remaining cavalry?” asked Vergil.

“Thought those goons patrolled the Sea of Mourning!”

“So you do know something about this place, ” said Vergil, and that’s about as far as they got before a thousand giant black armored skeletal deer appeared over the ridges, screaming and spouting fire from their nostrils as they aimed their skeletal horns and charged.

“So,” said Dante, his voice nearly drowning in the thunder. He slid into a better battle stance, bracing slightly against Vergil’s back. “Think there’s exactly 666 of these guys?”

“Let’s add them up when we’re done,” said Vergil.

Although if Dante was entirely honest, as he saw the sharpened knives at the end of those horns, he had a feeling this one might smart a little. He never really got the chance to find out, though, because just as the stampede hit 200 meters away from them, the ground cracked open. A giant spill of fire and stinking wind surged upwards out of the break. The force ripped the earth up under them and sent Dante flying into Vergil. They both went rolling.

The giant worm emerged from the crumbling ground, swallowing up the smouldering remains of Balam as it surged upwards, roughly twice the height of Dante’s office building. The monsters jaws parted, revealing a tongue that was the shape of muscular human man, except covered in golden scales.

“Who wakes Typhon the Great from His slumber,” bellowed this man-shaped appendage, brandishing an axe the size of a school bus.

The demon cavalry skidded to a halt at the ravine. The giant worm-tongue-man stared down at them. A great deal of consideration was to be had, between these two factions.

“Typhon the World Eater,” muttered Vergil.

“Echidna’s hubbie, huh?” That earned Dante another Look from his brother. “What? Don’t think we can take him?”

“You’re asking if we can take on a Greater Titan.”

“Yeah?”

“At the same time as full army of Nightmares.”

“Sure?”

“After taking on a Prince of Hell?”

“Why not?

“Hm.” Vergil thought about it. “We won’t know until we try, I guess.”.

But Dante had to admit, it might’ve gotten a little messy. The leader of the Nightmares reared and screamed, and Typhon turned to face them.

“You,” roared the worm, “Son of Sparda, you shall answer for the insult against my dear consort!”

“Ohhh boy,” said Dante. “She passed that on.”

“Who passed what on?” asked Vergil.

“So,” said Dante, bracing himself. The worm plunged towards them. The nightmares began to jump across the gap. “You. Fortuna. Nero’s mom. How’d that go for you?”

A bright circle of light appeared under their feet, and rocketed them a thousand miles from where their stood in an instant.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t exactly the first time Dante woke up ass up in a ditch, but he had to admit he was starting to get sore from it. Guess being half-demon didn’t always save you from getting old. He sat up. They’d landed close to the bank of the River of the Damned. The waters roiled and screamed a short distance way. Vergil crouched beside him, pretending like he’d been waiting for Dante to wake up -- except he braced Yamato against the ground for balance like a cane, so Dante knew he’d only woken up a moment or two earlier.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said someone, “You’re awake. Now, love. Why don’t you let me heal him?”

“I’m no one’s ‘love,’” snapped Vergil.

Dante struggled to wake up the rest of the way. His arm hurt like a bitch. He must have broken it at some point when they took a tumble out of the portal, but it was already knitting back together. Thanks, Dad. His eyes focused blearily. He saw the seared remnants of a summoning circle, and the figure knelt just at the edge of the circle -- mindful of the reach of Vergil’s sword.

Dante rolled into a sitting sprawl. He saw gold hair and a sharp face.

“Hey, Trish,” he said, grinning weakly. “Didn’t think you’d join the party so soon. You miss me?”

“Look again,” snapped Vergil.

Dante scrubbed dirt and sweat out of his eyes and tried again.

Yeah, the woman had pale gold hair. It spilled over her shoulders, since she was crouched at the edge of the circle, her hand splayed out to touch it. Her face was long, and achingly familiar -- but that’s where the similarities ended. Her wrists were covered with strange bangles. She wore a full black and gold bodysuit. Her hair went to her hips like a cape. It blew in the wind.

Dante threw himself backwards with a groan.

“Ah, damnit,” he said, “Another one? You know about this Vergil?”

“Can’t say I paid attention to all of Mundus’ toys,” said Vergil.

“Weren’t you one of them?!”

“They weren’t my better days,” said Vergil.

The woman looked back and forth between them. Realizing neither was moving to attack, she stood up. Her bangles jangled.

“You know,” she said, “It’s a little rude to talk about people like they aren’t here.”

“It’s rude to horn in on other people’s business unannounced,” snapped Vergil.

The woman brought her hand to her mouth in well-feigned dismay. Like Trish, she really was a spitting image of the portrait. If you ignored the bodysuit, the wild hair, and the flower petals that bloomed under her feet at every step. “Horn in,” she said. “I was trying to rescue you. Typhon is no joke, you know. You boys really ought to pace yourselves at least a little. You’re liable to get yourself killed.”

Vergil’s eyes went blank and cold. “Don’t lecture me.” His hands twitched around Yamato.

Dante decided to step between them. “Who are you?”

“A messenger from on high,” said the woman, her face bathed in gold light. She held her arms out, long black ribbons dangled from her sleeves, ending in bells. It gave her a look almost like a gold and black peacock. “Come to deliver you from the depths of perdition.”

Dante shook his head. “Cut it out. I mean, who are you. I’ve met another demon with that face before. The main message she had for me was from the guy who killed my mother.”

The woman lowered her arms. Her face fell. When it became clear Dante was not going to move to attack, Vergil made a disgusted noise and turned his back to them both. Okay, so he wanted to be a baby about it. Fine.

The apparition lowered her eyes. It twinged at Dante’s heart a little. Just a little. He managed somehow not to take a step towards her.

“Mundus created many demons with the intention of trapping the Sons of Sparda,” she murmured. Her eyes lingered on Vergil. Vergil clicked his tongue and continued to pretend he wasn’t listening to their every word. “Some to greater success than others. You could consider me a failed prototype. I didn’t make the cut.”

“Why failed?”

“Too weak. Too frail. Too averse to idea of murder.”

“Too much like the original, then,” said Dante, a little distantly. “Ain’t that a kick. But how do we know you’re not planning to lure us into another trap like Mallet Island, huh? Someone else could finish us off. Or try anyway.”

“Mundus is gone,” said the demon who wore his mother’s face. She did a little twirl, her bangles and fringe rippling with the motion. “And I’m free. I would owe you a thousand debts for that alone, but I come on behalf of another now. As I said, I am a messenger from on high! I have been sent to find you, yes. But not by Mundus, and not by any other demon in this world.”

“What, you going to pass yourself off as a heavenly messenger?”

“Oh, not at all. Paradiso is quite beyond all of us now,” said the demon. She seemed quite tickled by the idea. “Someone sent a message to me from Purgatorio -- the human realm, I should say. They commissioned a witch to send a message to the damned Sons of Sparda and I, as it happened, answered the call.”

She held out a shining, spectral envelope. Dante gave it a quick look over, sensed no trap magic on it, and took it. He ripped the seal, pulled out the card, and gave it a quick once over. Then he looked at it again, just to be sure.

“Hey, Vergil,” said Dante. “You might wanna see this.”

“You’re wasting our time,” said Vergil.

“It’s from Nero.”

Vergil read it over his shoulder.

“Curious,” said Vergil.

“Sounds serious,” said Dante. “Guess the kid really wants us back for this one.”

“He could handle it.”

“But we could give a him a hand. We owe him, don’t we?”

“Tch,” said Vergil.

Dante moved to shove the envelope into his coat, but it disintegrated into little gold pieces before he could. The demon hadn’t left. In fact, she waited for them to finish reading, her hands folded behind her back in such a sweet, friendly posture it pulled up all the childhood warmth Dante didn’t want to think about just then.

“Fine. I’ll bite,” said Dante. “So. Message delivered. You done or there more to this trap?”

“Well, I could offer you a way out,” said the demon, with warm smile. “I do know one. I could show you.”

“Aren’t we generous. And what do you get out of this? A ticket out? Our eternal souls?”

“The good will of the new demon king,” she said. She looked at Vergil again. Vergil pointedly glared off at the horizon, though he did raise his chin a little higher. “Would that be enough in my self interest for you to believe me?”

“You’re well informed, I’ll give you that,” said Dante. “All right. But I got conditions.”

“Mm-hmm?” Ugh, he really wished that noise didn’t make him feel like he had to confess to breaking a lamp.

“No funny business,” said Dante. “And I want a name. I already know a Lady, and Trish is taken. So.”

“In that case, how about Bea?”

“Good enough,” said Dante. “Well, Bea. Lead the way.”

The golden demon giggled and transformed on the spot, taking the form of a beautiful shining secretary bird. The bangles dangled from her claws. She cocked her head, and circled around them.

“This way, my little lambs,” she cried, “Follow me!”

She took off along the bank of the River of the Damned.

“You’re so easy,” said Vergil, flatly.

Dante shrugged. “Got a better idea?”

“This trap had better be a challenge,” hissed Vergil. When Dante set out to follow the shining bird, his brother trudged along beside him.


	2. Gone from the Path Direct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante and Vergil deal with an old friend of their father. Their guide shows them where they need to go.

A horn blared. The dark figure appeared from between the trees. Sharp hooves crunched through the twisted foliage, leaving the plants dead and squirming in their wake. At first glance Dante thought the demon rode a horse or a stag -- but as it stepped into the light of the clearing, he saw it was centaur situation: ragged black stag from the waist down, hairy horned man from the waist up. Pieces of torn flesh and clothes dangled from his antlers. He had a rifle draped over his shoulder.

“So the trap closes,” muttered Vergil. He held Yamato ready. Dante reached for Ebony and Ivory. All around them the trees began to chitter and curl. Eyes snapped open in the underbrush. They heard the sound of dogs panting. Hounds, dozen, tens of them, began to circle. 

“So I find you in this gloomy wood, astray,” said the demon, his leathery face pulled into a crooked grin. “So it is true. The Sons of Sparda wander the first circle. How marvelous.”

“Dante, Vergil,” cried Bea, circling above them in bird form. “Be wary! That is Gwyn, Master of the Hunt--!” 

Gwyn pulled out his rifle and fired it at her. It tore through the tip of her wing. Bea screeched and fell into the grove, fifty metres away. 

“I do so hate noisy game,” muttered the huntsman, he advanced on them. “Especially when it is weak, and easily felled. But fortune smiles on me. Never could I have ever hoped to have found such remarkable quarry. The Sons of Sparda! How I have longed to settle our debts. My hounds crave your sweet, corrupted blood. Your arms shall make a fine trophy for my lodge.”

“Assuming it’s not the other way around,” said Vergil, as the hellhounds began to growl. The smell of sulfur rose around them. 

“And assuming we’re even interested in coming to play,” said Dante. He glanced over his shoulder. “Never seen him before. You know this guy?”

“He was Mundus’ game warden,” said Vergil. “Thousands of years ago, he collected souls in the human world for sport. Father banished him before sealing off the worlds.”

“So it’s personal,” said Dante.

“It’s personal,” said Vergil.

“He strong?”

“He consumed the souls of the innocents for countless generations. He’d have contended for the throne of hell, if he cared for anything but the hunt. He breeds hellhounds for fun,” said Vergil. Beneath their feet, the forest undergrowth began to twist and wind under their boots, pulling at the edges of their coats. “And we’re in his preserve.”

A vine curled its way around Dante’s ankle. He shook it off and stomped on it.

“Home team advantage,” said Dante. He whistled, as the dogs began to close in. “Ain’t that a thing.” 

“Enough mewling, children,” said Gwyn. “You linger too long and my hounds hunger.”

The demon cocked his rifle. Vergil nudged Yamato an inch out of the scabbard. Dante held his guns ready. Gwyn narrowed his eyes. 

The cage of teeth sprang up from beneath them before they could blink, the teeth piercing their arms and legs. 

“What?!” snarled Vergil.

“Oh, hell,” growled Dante, as one of the teeth went through his shoulder. “And here I thought you were going for a chase.”

“Hah,” crowed Gwyn, trotting towards them with a deep boisterous laugh. His hounds seemed to echo it, giggling like hyenas. Gwyn tapped one of the one of the bony teeth of the cage. The one piercing Vergil’s abdomen. “And what sort of hunter subsists without his snares? Trapped. As I intended. Shall you gnaw your limbs off to escape? Show me, Sons of Sparda. Show me your will to live.”

He took aim in earnest this time. This time point blank, at Vergil’s head. Vergil glared, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

“How dare you,” he hissed.

“I always dare,” said Gwyn, smiling.

The golden lioness burst from the woods behind them with a deep, throaty roar. It moved faster the hounds, cutting a hot line through them. Gwyn’s eyes had barely the time to track this new movement before she rammed the cage, broke the teeth into pieces, and lunged straight for his throat.

Gwyn’s shot went astray. Dante and Vergil fell back to the ground, broken teeth tips jutting out of their bodies. Gwyn’s heavy gloved hand caught the lioness an inch from his face, hand tight around her neck.

“So the beast thinks she can master the hunter,” he rumbled. He squeezed. The lioness dissipated in a shower of gold, leaving only Bea, dangling from his grip. 

“A beast?” she wheezed, under his grip. “No, just beauty here, thank you.”

Then she braced one of her dangling feet against his face. There was a strange click at her heel. Then loud bang, like a gun. Gynn howled, suddenly clutching his now bloodied face. He dropped Bea. She twisted as she fell, legs split in a roundhouse kick. The hounds lunged. Bang. Bang. Bang. The hounds cried out. A line of them fell under a spray of spectral bullets, leaving a clear path further into the forest.

Bea landed and rolled. 

“Dante, Vergil,” she cried, stumbling to her feet. “Run! Now!” 

The edge of panic in her voice hit a faraway place in Dante’s mind he seldom liked to go. He pulled the tooth out of his shoulder and followed, unquestionably. He knew from the sharp hissing breath next to him Vergil did the same. 

“Insolent witch,” roared Gwyn, behind them. The hounds bayed. They could hear the rumble of hooves behind them. Dante put on speed. 

“You got guns in your boots?” asked Dante, as they cut their way through the now screaming forest. 

“You don’t?” asked Bea, her hair whipping behind her like a golden banner. 

“Beginning to think I should invest in a pair of heels,” laughed Dante. “That’s the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

“Enough, they’ll be on us soon,” said Vergil, he wrenched the last shard of fang out of his stomach and tossed it over his shoulder, hitting one of the hounds. “We should turn and fight.” 

“No,” cried Bea. “We’re nearly there. If we stop now…!” 

“Where is ‘there’?!” snapped Vergil.

“The gate,” said Bea. “There, up ahead. Make for the gate. Now!” 

The forest gave way to stone. The stone gave away to an incline. Ahead, Dante saw a rock wall, a narrow crevasse, a set of stone lions framing the crevasse, painted gold and blue. Behind him, he heard the hounds getting closer. He could feel their breath on his back. Discharge from Gwyn’s rifle grazed his cheek. 

“Between the lions,” gasped Bea, as Gwyn reloaded. “Now!”

Vergil shook his head. “Enough. We’ll show him.” He skidded to a stop, turning as he went, ready to draw.

Dante grabbed him by the back of his jacket and threw him down just as Gwyn’s next shot sailed over their heads. They fell in a messy pile between the lions. Dante felt a sharp kick up and down his body, like being struck by lightning. He looked up. The first hounds were coming at them full pelt, pale eyes rolling, tongues slavering, teeth white as bone…

The first three or four of hellhounds struck the space between the stone lions like it was a solid wall. They twisted, onto their hind legs, yelping helplessly. The air crackled and snapped. They exploded into dust. The next wave of hellhounds saw this and tried to skid to a halt or wheel away, but they only made it part-way, several lost their heads and tails to the invisible wall.

The third wave stopped completely. They stood in front of the lions and whined. Gwyn came to a halt with a clatter of hooves. His one unbloodied eye glared at Dante across an expanse of three feet.

“Hiding behind the witches skirts,” he sneered. “How dare you. Coward!”

“Coward, huh,” said Dante, standing unsteadily. He had to admit, he felt a little like he’d been hit by a truck. “I don’t see you trying to cross that thing. Why don’t you come talk it over. Bet we could settle our differences over drinks.” 

Gwyn reared and bellowed. He tried to throw a punch. His hand struck the invisible barrier. His knuckles began to smoke. He stumbled backwards, nearly unbalancing into his dogs. 

“By all means, try again,” said Bea. She’d paused to kneel over Vergil, but now she looked up, her face bright and cheerful. “This is hallowed ground. Your forest won’t reach here.” 

“There is a punishment to those who cheat their contracts,” said Gwyn.

“Contract? How presumptuous,” said Bea. “I hardly know you.”

Gwyn paced back and forth, rattling his bloodied antlers. He shouldered his rifle, thought about firing… then, thinking better about how the gate might react, he lowered it. His hounds circled around his feet, whining and cringing.

“You live today, Sons of Sparda,” he said, “but by my banner, I shall hang you on my wall.”

“Get in line,” said Dante.

Gwyn swore and galloped back up the incline. Him and his pack vanished into the woods. 

“Whew,” said Dante, slumping over. He patted at the smoke coming off his jacket. “Guess he had some brains after all.” 

“More brains than the two of us, Dante,” husked Vergil. He’d pulled himself up along the stony crevasse wall. He breathed heavily. Bea tried to touch his face. He snapped his head away. “Don’t touch me. Foolish woman, what have you done?”

Bea pulled back and bit her lip. She looked hurt. “I only…”

“Saved us, looks like,” said Dante. Bea smiled shakily at him. Vergil scoffed.

“In favor of what?” Vergil slid up along the wall, bracing on Yamato. “Did you not feel what that barrier did? It’s made to repel demons. To pull their strength from their bones. That thing, whatever she is, is luring us into something that eats away at our very souls.” 

“Ah, my love, you’re so suspicious. It wasn’t that bad. It only took a little of your power,” said Bea. “And just for a little bit. The first gate’s for protection. Can’t have the weaker demons coming in all unannounced can we?” 

Dante, ready to jump to her defense, dropped his hand.

“All right,” he said, hefting himself up. “Explanation time.”

Bea sighed and picked herself up. She moved slowly. Dante could see her gold and black jumpsuit had been stained by red along her left arm -- where Gwyn would have shot her in bird form. So she hadn’t come out of all of that unscathed.

“I’m sorry, sweetness. It really is easier if I show you. But first -- you have a little something on your leg.” Dante looked down. A piece of the trap fangs was still stuck in his thigh. He yanked it out. Red filled his vision. The wound didn’t close. Oh, sure, he could feel it knitting back together. He could put weight on it. But it didn’t come as quick as it usually did.

“Please, allow me--” Bea started towards them.

Vergil stepped between them.

“Don’t touch him,” he warned. 

She held out her hand. Several pieces of green candy sat in her palm. They looked approximately the size and shape of the little sucker candies you kept on your desk. Except they pulsed faintly. 

“It’s made from Vitae,” she said. “I brewed it myself! It’s very tasty. And it will heal you, to boot! Handy things, in this sort of place.” 

Vergil didn’t budge.

“Oh, Vergil, stop being so fussy,” she cried. Dante cringed reflexively. Shoot, full mom voice. This demon knew her stuff. She popped one in her mouth and demonstrated. The wound on her arm from when Gwyn shot her closed up. 

Vergil let her pass the candies around, though he refused to take them himself. Dante downed it like a gumdrop. It tasted like green apple with a bit of a zing. Dante felt the pain in his leg warm up into more of an ache. The wound knit back together. Within a minute, he was well enough to follow Bea further through the crevasse, where the walls went high and orange, covered with blue and purple murals.

“This place doesn’t steal a demon’s power. It suppresses it. It’s meant as a trial, you see,” she murmured, running her hand along the grooves in the wall. “The smaller demon that is made of nothing but that power? …It doesn’t end so well for them.” 

The stone gave way to steps, and a light breeze from up ahead. No breeze in hell ever smelled fresh, but this one had a distinctly floral scent, like rosemary. Dante was demon enough he made a face. He could tell from a glance at Vergil he felt the same way. 

“These lands fall under Ereshkigal,” said Bea. Every now and again she tapped a section of the wall. Something shimmered ahead of them. More defenses, it seemed. “She doesn’t leave her gate unattended. People are meant to come in at this point. Not leave. If she was so generous, Mundus would have marched his army right out this gate, and she refused to let that happen. She made an ancient contract long ago to be a fair judge of those who come this way.” 

“Ereshkigal,” said Vergil. He’d given up pretending Bea didn’t exist. “The Queen of Kur?”

Bea nodded. “Queen of the Underworld. Judge of the damned. She of the seven gates. She who oversees all souls pulled into the underworld and shepherds them as she fits in.” 

“There’s a few who do that,” said Dante. “Funny thing about human souls. Lot of folks getting dragged down here these days. And plenty of demons claiming to be royalty. What’s this one specialize in?” 

“See for yourself,” said Bea. 

The crevasse opened up. The path ahead plunged downwards into a great purple and pink valley. Dotting the valley were a thousand white tombs. Each were covered in chains. Each were opened. Each were stained in blood. Each were empty, their contents dark and unfathomable.

“The graveyard of the Umbra Witches,” said Bea. “Your way out of Hell.”


	3. "Abandon all hope ye who enter here"

“The Umbra Witches?” asked Dante. “Aren’t they those crazy ladies who mess with time and space?”

Vergil looked at him. “That’s how you’d describe them?”

Dante looked at Vergil. “Fine, how would you describe them?”

“Female practitioners of the dark arts. They contract with demons,” said Vergil.

Bea looked at them both. “Boys, boys! You’re both pretty,” she said. They stared back. “And you’re both right, as it happens.”

The valley below seemed to stretch on an age. The path down the ridge was steep and made of many switchbacks. At the far end, they could another red rock wall rising high into the murky dark red clouds above. The clouds themselves whirled in a spiral, obscuring anything beyond besides the black chains dangling down from what seemed to be the sky itself. Each chain ended in a nasty hook. The nearest to them turned in a slow, moaning creak. The hook itself was about was about the size of a house.

“The Umbra Witches,” said Bea, twirling on her foot as she raced ahead of them. “They did watch over time and space, and they do make contracts with demons. Ah, but there have been fewer and fewer as time has gone on. I fear they are another thing that has long passed on… well, up above. But not here. This, as you see, is the beginning of their final resting place!”

“Just the beginning?” asked Dante. Vergil had gone back to pretending Bea didn’t exist. It was a bit hard, when she was the one showing them where the next path started. She didn’t seem to have passed through that gate with little more than a little bit of smoke at the ends of her hair. She must have been a more powerful demon than she let on, and Dante could tell from the predatory tilt of his brother’s head that Vergil was gauging just how strong that might be.

“The Umbra witches were granted many things from their contracts. Extended life. Remarkable powers. Provided, of course, they did not fall in battle. In that case, per the terms of their contracts, their souls were forfeit to hell -- and whatever demon had aided them in life of course, had first right of refusal. Witches souls are something of a premium down here. A normal human is a nice snack, but a witch…”

“Can grant you all the magic she knew in life,” murmured Vergil. “And more.”

“Please tell me you didn’t eat some lady,” said Dante.

“Do I look like a cannibal, Dante?”

“Dunno, you’re the one who ate that goddamn blood fruit--”

Vergil bristled.

“Children,” said Bea, warning. Mom-voice again. Even Vergil glanced at her.

“And do I look like a child?” he asked.

“No,” said Bea, a little wistfully. “But you’re quite right, in the benefits a witch’s soul can do a demon. Why else contract with them, if the return wasn’t so good? Yes. This is where so many of them wound up, but the witches were not so inclined to go too easily into that good night. Hence, this place.”

“You mean the demon repellent,” said Dante, waving his hand over the place. “This place stinks. Rosemary, right?”

“Very good,” said Bea. She clapped. Her bangles rang like bells.

“You knew that.” Vergil blinked.

“Devil Hunter’s got to know some tricks of the trade,” said Dante, he did his best not to look too offended -- or too pleased to get praise from their demonic guide. “What, do witches stuff their coffins with ‘em?”

“Right again, my love,” beamed Bea. That earned a weird hissing sound out of Vergil. Dante had never heard him manage that. Boy, this was getting to him. “And the tombs were once enforced with enchanted chains -- to make it harder for the demons to tear them open. Of course, that’s not all. The witches devised a number of traps and trials in this place, to make it just a bit harder for any demons strong enough to make it this far to reach them. So, you, see, this place allows something of a respite to those damned souls… provided you accept Ereshkigal’s judgment, of course.”

“And what’s Ereshikigal get out of this,” asked Dante, mindfully eyeing the bridge made out of, it looked like, bones. Bea tiptoed across it with her arms spread. Dante followed, cautiously. It creaked a bit under his feet, but he managed. “Seems awfully generous deal. She eat ‘em herself?”

“Oh, heavens, no. She just keeps the gathered power of any who fail her trials or her judgment.”

Vergil and Dante both stopped. Bea quickly covered her mouth, flushed.

“Oh, no, but you’ll both pass,” she insisted. “I’m sure of that. Besides the fact you are the Sons of Sparda. Besides the fact you are so desperately needed above. Besides all that…!”

“Your point?” demanded Vergil.

Bea whirled around to face them. She closed the distance in a glittery blur of golden hair. She reached for Vergil’s cheek.

“Because you have what other demons lack.” Her eyes shone. “A human heart.”

Vergil hissed and shadow stepped back across the bridge before she could touch him, leaving Bea frozen with her hand still outstretched. She closed it, and lowered it, with a tiny ‘ah.’

“I’m beginning to see why Mundus considered you a failure,” said Vergil, rematerializing with an ice-hot stare. “Enough. Dante, we’ve been had.”

“Yeah, it’s a little fishy, but--”

Vergil turned away, thumbing Yamato out of his sheath.

“Wait.” Bea recovered, clasping her hands. “I promise it’s not a trick.”

“The promise of some autocratic queen’s lackey means nothing to me,” said Vergil, storming away now. His boots crunched in the loose earth of the crevasse. Yeah, that was probably bone. “The promise of someone literally made to pull my heartstrings, even less so.”

Dante ducked past her, following Vergil. He reached for his shoulder. “C’mon, Vergil. We can humor her a little longer. She pissed off that huntsman. That’s got to count for something--”

Vergil twisted under his hand, throwing him off.

“We don’t need her anymore, Dante. If this land is really that close to a portal, our own powers will suffice.” Vergil unsheathed Yamato, perfect and silver despite the red wash of hell’s light. His eyes darted in that low, slow way that Dante knew meant he was scanning for that soft spot between worlds, the catch only the weapon’s wielder could truly see. “Let’s go.”

Bea cried out. “No, wait--! That will activate Ereshkigal’s--”

Vergil drew Yamato in a sideways slash across the air.

The world broke, but not in the way Vergil wanted. The cut he left in the air shivered, strained, and snapped, leaving a huge yawning hole of seething darkness. The ground rippled beneath Dante’s feet. Dante saw the world vanish beneath his brother’s feet. He felt someone close their hand around his arm. He heard the sound of jangling. Bea. But Dante didn’t pay her too much attention. He threw himself forward, grabbing at Vergil, hoping he could reach him before he fell down, down, into the abyss he’d never be able to drag him out from--

Then the world snapped back, and he was lying in another heap. At least the landing was a bit softer this time. He felt a warm body over him, shivering. Bea, again. She had her arms around him. She was warm. Too warm. It took him a moment or two to realize she was still tugging at his coat.

“Oh, you poor, stubborn children,” she muttered over him. Her hair fell around him like a curtain. It tickled his neck and his cheeks. He winced. It felt too much like a memory he didn’t really want to call back right then. “You activated the second gate.”

Then she pulled away and he could breathe again.

“‘Truth can never be told so as to be understood and not be believed,’” muttered a hoarse voice under him. He began to realize why the ground beneath him felt a little more like treated leather. “Your elbow is in my clavicle.”

He blinked and sat up. The man under him groaned and did the same. The voice was deeper than he remembered. The man was skinnier than he remembered, too. Swimming in his black coat, skin covered in white scars, and brittle white hair shivering in his face…

“Hey, V,” he said to the newcomer. “Welcome back.”

“I never left.” V peered at him, green eyes, made darker by the shadow of his hair. “But you’re a new face. What should I call you?”

“Tony’ll work, I guess.” Tony Redgrave shoved his own hank of white hair out of his eyes, leaned back, and looked around. They were in the valley now, sprawled out beneath a grove of deadened black trees, grown on the ashes of the dead. The witch tombs sprang around them like particularly morbid stones. The air smelled sweet and floral. Peaceful, even. When had rosemary ever smelled nice? “There’s a name I haven’t used in awhile. So. This is what you meant. Heart. Heh. Take away our demon sides, and you get…”

Bea held out her hands like a magician presenting a hidden rabbit. Ta-da. “In my defense,” she said, “I did try to tell you.”

“Yeah, well, your exposition could’ve come a little faster.” Tony cracked his shoulder as he stood. He hadn’t been this full of aches in a long time. He checked himself over. Clothes are a little looser than they’d been. Knee a little bruised. Ribs a little sore. Nothing broken. Yet. He nodded in the direction of V, and discreetly tightened his belt. “And this guy over here has no patience when he’s in a mood. And he’s always in a mood.”

“My particular downfall, I suppose…” V uncurled slowly, limbs stiff like an old man. He didn’t have his cane. Tony grabbed him and pulled him up the rest of the way. He didn’t feel like watching him struggle for it. “The Yamato’s gone,” he murmured in Tony’s ear, not looking at him.

Tony reached for his own sword. The sheath was empty.

“Well, I’ll be damned…”

“Devil arms,” Bea sing-songed. All demon power. Right. “A bit against the terms, you see.”

“Those were heirlooms,” said Tony, glaring. “We’re getting those back, right?”

“Tony,” murmured V.

“You should probably know he ripped off his son’s arm for that thing,” said Tony. “Just putting it out there.”

“Tony.”

“To say nothing about what the hell he did to get it back. So yeah, if we’re checking those at the door, I want a receipt!”

V squeezed his forearm.

“We have guests,” he said, warningly.

Tony looked up.

A dozen or so eyes looked back at him. White, glowing eyes, each of them burning from under a flowing grey, thoroughly transparent veil. Their limbs petered off into smoke. Some of them had shackles around their wrists.

Shades. Great. Tony hadn’t seen those since… well, since almost the last time he’d been called Tony. Some of them were crawling out from the shadows of the nearest tombs. They kept their distance, loitering, whispering to each other. A few of them pointed with their barely distinct hands and giggled. A few began to creep closer. Their bodies began to grow more distinct. Pointier. Some of them even had weapons.

“I think we’re the guests around these parts,” said Tony. He looked quickly to Bea. “Okay, exposit.”

Bea made a face as though she’d just swallowed a frog. “The first trial,” she said.

“We have to fight them?”

“Not necessarily. But If you want to make it across the grounds to the next gate? Very probably.”

“And do we have your assistance?” asked V, with surprising restraint. But, predictably, Bea shook her head. She flipped her way up into the branches of the nearest blackened tree. She dangled her feet over the edge. She had the grace to look regretful, but Tony wasn’t sure he liked that look better on her.

“Forbidden, I’m afraid,” she said, “by the terms of my own presence. I am but a messenger. I may only observe. Please don’t die.”

Tony threw up his hands. “Well, hey, we’ll do our best!”

“That’s the spirit,” said Bea. She gave them a thumbs up.

* * *

 

The ghosts of the witches marched. Slow and prepared. They grew more solid the closer they drifted. Tony reached for his holster. Ebony and Ivory were still there, so at least there was that.

He tossed Ivory to V. V caught it with a flourish.

“Not my style,” he reminded him..

“It’s something,” said Tony.

V measured the weight of the weapon in his hand. He turned it over. He checked the inscription. Then he checked the clip.

“Your ammo,” he said, examining the empty case, “was not, by chance, created by your power, was it?”

Tony swore.

V replaced the clip and and checked the heft of the weapon. “I suppose it could be used as a projectile,” he said, consideringly. “Once.”

Tony grabbed Ivory off of him before he could take that train of thought any further down the line. The shades closed in. V held out his arm and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, murmuring a set of names. The empty scars along them were just that, scars. He frowned.

“Nightmare’s over,” said Tony, pushing at his shoulder. “Remember?”

“Ah,” said V, opening his eyes. “That’s right. And that’s…so very inconvenient right now.”

V broke a stick off the nearest burnt out tree and thrust it forward like a fencing foil.

“Now that I can work with.” Tony broke off his own branch and charged in swinging.


	4. Siena made me, Maremma unmade me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human and powerless, Tony and V take on the trials of the Umbra Witches.

There was a certain thrill to it, Tony Redgrave had to admit. You didn’t have to be a demon to be an adrenaline junkie.

But, as he dropped low to avoid the screaming snap of one of the nearest shade’s flaming whips, he did sort of miss being able to heal right away. It’d been a long time since he’d been young and stupid and Tony Redgrave. Tony had forgotten he was part demon. Tony had forgotten he was anybody, really, besides whoever he had to be for the next job. Whether it got him killed or not had never been one of Tony Redgrave’s top concerns. Devil may care was the beginning and end of the way he lived his life, and anyone under twenty thought of themselves as immortal.

But this Tony Redgrave had to face facts: he was well over twenty, and far from immortal. It felt as though he’d spent hours pushing his way through these things. It’d only been minutes. At first, he’d wondered if one of the witches was exuding some kind of corrosive smoke, but then it hit him, as he danced out of the way of a bladed fan: he was tired. Honest to God tired. His muscles were sore. His lungs stung. He could even still feel the sting from that whip well after he sweep-kicked the nearest shade and shouldered his way through to V -- who at present had jammed the butt of his makeshift cane into a shade’s skull.

“You know,” said Tony, using the stick to block another grab attack aimed at V’s head. “Got to admit. Been awhile since I did the whole ‘no demon powers’ thing. Got any pointers?”

“If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning,’” quoted V, twisting his cane to block his own attacker, who’d somehow produced a pair of shears and seemed dead set on shearing off his head. “Duck.”

Tony dropped down at the same time as V. Their enemies impaled each other. One with claws, the other with scissors. V whirled at the same time as Tony. Together they pushed this set of shades into the circle advancing. That bought them enough time to get through to the next set of graves.

“Yanno, in the normal way, I’d say this was a nice break from the demon princes and huntsman,” huffed Tony, “but this is getting a little tedious. That the next gate up ahead?”

There, down the ridge of red rock: a pair of painted stone lions, like the set that had brought them there.

“Past the the honor guard, you mean?” murmured V.

Past the twenty or so shades emerging from the ground cackling like mad, he meant.

Tony whistled and shoved his bangs out of his eyes. “Now that’s a party I didn’t get the invitation for,” he sighed, mournfully. Doing it like this. Ugh. He knew he’d hear about this later.

Assuming there’d be a later.

Psh-shaw. Of course there’d be a later. He was Tony Redgrave, wasn’t he?

“Hey, V,” he said. “How much do you weigh under that coat?”

“Hm?” V glanced sideways at him under his hair, and that was about the only warning he got before Tony dove at him, threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and pelted headlong down the slope, head lowered as he charged directly at the at the gathering shades, yelling like a lunatic. He kicked off before he reached them, using the nearest as a stepping stone, and the second as the next, and somehow that got him enough air to propel him, still shouting, through the lions and…

* * *

 

“You made it!”

The secretary bird transformed in front of them. Bea landed daintily ahead as V and Tony set about figuring out whose limb belonged to whom. It took a bit. V had a lot of leg, as it turned out. The gate hadn’t taken anything from them this time -- or, at least, nothing Tony could immediately feel or see. His knee hurt like, well, hell, though. So did his ribs and one of his shoulders. Humans weren’t exactly supposed to jump off five foot ledges while carrying another person, even if that person was all skin and bones.

Skin and bones hadn’t dropped his stick. He stabbed it in the ground and picked himself up. He seemed surprised to discover he could stand.

“...More or less,” said V. He shifted his weight back onto his good leg and gave his cane a testing twirl. “It wasn’t the most elegant of solutions.”

“And that’s a ‘Dismal’ rating from Fred Astaire over there,” grumbled Tony.

“Gene Kelly,” said V, abruptly.

“Eh?”

V gave the cane another whirl and threw it from one hand into the other like that answered anything. When Tony went on staring, he said, “Singing in the Rain.”

Tony stared blankly. V ran a hand back through his lanky hair and sighed as it fell back in his face.

“It was mother’s favorite,” he said, like it was obvious. “She watched it with us when it rained, _remember_?”

Tony glared as he smacked soot out of his coat. “And rain always put me to sleep. Remember?”

“I…” V’s eyebrows went up. His lips parted faintly, as though in sudden revelation. He really did have that ‘mad prophet’ look down. He blinked rapidly, staring at Tony as though he were seeing him for the first time. “Yes. I do.”

He seemed as taken off guard by his answer as Tony.

“Ah.” Both of them jolted back to reality, or whatever their present situation currently counted as reality. Bea. Right. The demon had her hands folded to her chest, eyes bright. “How lovely.”

At least someone was satisfied.

* * *

 

“Don’t tell me all the trials will be like that.”

“Not all the trials will be like that,” said Bea, obligingly. She led them across a bridge made of dark glass, butterflies glowing under her feet as she walked. “That one was set out by Shield Witch Lagertha. It was simply the preliminary. Lagertha was, to my understanding, a rather straightforward witch in her ways.”

“You mean she liked to hit things,” said Tony.

“She liked to hit things,” said Bea.

“I can respect that.”

V chuckled, softly. “Would that all things in life be so simple.”

“You’ve never been one to talk,” said Tony.

V tapped his cane against the glass. “Not in this form.”

Tony glanced over the edge of the bridge. Beneath them was another ravine, below a river of broken glass not unlike the one they were presently walking over. Neat. Also a little deadly. “About that,” he said. “Kind of always wondered. Why are you a thing, V?”

V peered at him. He whirled his hand in a slight ‘elaborate?” gesture.

Tony thumped the lapel of his ragged jacket. “Manifestation of my humanity is just me circa… Aw hell, I don’t even remember how long ago it was now. But I remember looking at this mug in the mirror. How come yours is some scene kid. Last I checked you never had a goth phase.”

V’s lips twitched. “Ah,” he said, looking almost amused as he went back to limping along the bridge. “You always kept your humanity closer to the surface. You treasured it. Nurtured it. Fled to it, when all else failed.”

Tony stopped. “That how you see it?”

“I’m undecided on the matter.”

“Fine. That how Vergil sees it?”

V didn’t answer. The next set of lions sat at the end of the bridge. Bea had stopped, waiting for them. Her reflection barely showed in the dark glass beneath her feet. She waited patiently for them to catch up.

Tony stopped. “It’s what she asked me to do.”

V took a breath and looked away, his face hidden by his hair.

“I was a bit lacking in your foresight,” he murmured, “or your good advice.”

Tony grabbed his shoulder. “You know she didn’t mean to--”

V didn’t tense or throw him off. “I know.”

Tony blinked. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy.

“The house was attacked,” said V, turning in the other direction so Tony couldn’t see him. “I wasn’t there. Our mother never found me. It’s not complicated. A part of me has always known the simple answer, but in order to accept something, you have to acknowledge it in the first place. You may have found some solace in your humanity, when all else was lost. That option was… not so available to me.”

“And what about now?”

“Now? Hm. I wonder.”

“Meaning, ‘I’m a stubborn jackass who doesn’t like to admit I’m wrong,’” said Tony. V just shrugged. “I can’t decide if you’re more annoying in this form, or kind of cute.”

“Well.” V slithered out from under his hand, but when he glanced back at him he smiled, crookedly. “I look forward to the conclusion of your assessment.”

 

* * *

 

According to the broken tomb, next to the stone lions, this trial had been created by a witch known as Agatha.

‘Here Lies Agatha,

Our Umbra Sister,

The Witch Who Bound The Incomparable Gardens

Where she was lost forever.’

 

Whatever that meant.

(“It means she was a bit flighty. I’m told she changed her mind an awful lot.”

“Got any advice for this one?” asked Tony.

“Put some thought into it,” said Bea.

“This should be interesting,” said V.

“Says the guy who cut himself in half.”

V wisely said nothing else.)

Tony hadn’t expected the ‘witch of paths’ to be as literal as it was. After the gate, the road -- now an attractive bruised purple cobblestone -- split into two as it reached a grove of shivering flowers. Each path had a trellis over it, covered in blood red flowers. The decoration of each trellis held the face of a woman. As Tony and V got close, their eyes opened, revealing black eyes full of stars.

“I am Gardenia,” said the one on the right.

“I am Camellia,” said the one on the left.

“One of these paths leads to to the next gate,” said Gardenia.

“One of these paths leads to certain death,” said Camellia.

“We will tell you the way --”

“-- but one of us always lies --”

“-- and one of us always tells the truth --”

“You may ask one question,” they said together.

V walked over to the nearest bolder, leaned his walking stick against it, and sat down.

“Hey,” said Tony, jogging over to him. “What gives?”

“It’s a logic puzzle,” said V. “A classic. It just occurred to me it might take awhile.”

“Don’t see why.”

“Oh?”

 “Hey,” called Tony. “You ladies said that last part at the same time.”

An awkward silence filled the valley.

“Can’t be true and false at the same time,” said Tony.

The two masks glanced at each other.

“We don’t have to answer do we?” muttered Gardenia.

“Of course not! He wasn’t asking a question,” answered Camellia.

“I thought I was supposed to--”

“-- I thought you were supposed to -- “

“--I was just doing what Agatha asked me to do!”

“You mean you weren’t bound?”

“No!”

 “That means I’m not bound! Am I bound?!”

“Why are you asking me?!”

They went back and forth like that for awhile. Tony sidled over to V, still seated like some skinny leather daddy Buddha on the rocks. He sat down next to him and offered him a water bottle. V took it obligingly.

“So,” said Tony, as the two masks kept arguing. “Think that’s how we look to people?”

“We’re a little more lethal,” said V.

“Guess so,” said Tony. “Memories, eh?”

The trellis’ began to shake in agitation. The flowers shook. V passed the water bottle back to Tony. Tony jumped off the rocks and approached the fork in the path, hands on his hips.

“Hey, ladies,” he called. “Could just let us through. Nothing stopping you.”

The two masks focused on him. Their eyes narrowed to dubious half-moons of light.

“We could,” reflected Gardenia.

“No we can’t!” snapped Camellia. “I haven’t been lying my ass off for two hundred years for it to be easy!”

“But it does mean there’s nothing keeping you,” murmured V, bracing against his walking stick as he followed. “If your witch left you no instructions to keep you bound. You’re free to go wherever you like.”

Another uncertain pause.

“We are,” they said, at the same time.

“Did it again,” grinned Tony.

“DAMNIT,” snapped Camellia.

“You know what, just take this path,” sighed Gardenia. “I don’t care anymore. It’s been boring in this valley without Agatha.”

“I haven’t missed her at all,” said Camellia, bitterly. “Go ahead! See if I care!”

“I thought you didn’t have to lie anymore.”

“Well, aren’t you just the SWEETEST. You know, I’ve always LOVED doing this job with you!”

“Hey!”

V jabbed the tip of his walking stick in the direction of the path to the right.

“We’d best be off,” he said. When they passed under the trellis, neither of the masks noticed. The sound of their argument slowly faded into the distance.

* * *

 

“Back so soon?” They found Bea perched on one of the stone lions of the next gate, making what looked to be some sort of spectral sweater. She hadn’t gotten very far with it. The hook and the thread dematerialized as she sprang to her feet, vanishing into gold dust. She kick-flipped off the lion and landed in front of them. “And not a scratch on you! I must admit, I’m impressed. I didn’t even get to finish a sleeve!”

“They underestimated us,” said V. “Sorry to interrupt your knitting.”

“Crochet,” said Tony. V raised an eyebrow. “What? Only one hook.”

“You are so good,” said Bea. She had the nerve to pinch his cheek. Tony had to stop himself from grinning. Goddamn, this was getting a little embarrassing. Trish had never gone this hard on it when she’d tried to kill him. “You’ll want to keep on your toes for the next one. This one’s from Mim, the Heart Witch. See? That’s her grave right there.”

She turned Tony’s head to the upended gravestone next to the path.

“Here lies Mim,

Our Umbra Sister,

Whom Bound the Mirror of the Heart

And fell to pieces when it broke.”

“Sounds as though this one met a particularly bad end,” said V. “Can you give us a hint?”

Bea wagged her finger at him.

“Now, now,” she said. Tony thought the cheek pinch had been bad, but V got a nose boop. V went a little cross-eyed. He’d obviously never had anyone do that before. “You know, I can’t help you. I’m here to observe, and observe I shall. But, I can remind you, to think about what you just read.”

“You aren’t actually Ereshkigal in disguise, are you?” asked Tony.

Both V and Bea looked at him.

“What? Wouldn’t be the first time the final boss has hitched a ride with me,” said Tony.

“That’s fair,” said V, after some thought..

“Sorry, but no,” said Bea. She seemed absolutely delighted by the question. “But aren’t you clever to ask that! I’m flattered you think I’m so important.”

 “From my perspective,” said Tony, “you’ve come through two gates with us, and you’re looking as radiant as ever.”

Bea twirled obligingly. “And the flattery continues!”

“Despite being a demon,” added V, pointedly. He had a hand over his face. Well, fine, he could be a killjoy if he wanted to be. 

Bea stopped and dropped her arms. “Well-spotted,” she admitted. Even this, she made it sound like true praise. “I am a bit of an exception in this place. I am at present a servant of Ereshkigal. It’s part of the conditions of my status as messenger, you see. She sees what I see, and I convey to her what she needs to know.”

“Thought Nero sent you,” said Tony.

“He did,” said Bea. “I am bound to that task! It’s more. Mm. How. To. Put. It.” She whirled her fingers as she punctuated that one. “Think of me as something of a contractor. And Ereshkigal serves as my patron. That sweet boy -- Nero -- called upon a messenger from Hell to seek out the Sons of Sparda, and I am the one who answered. Ereshkigal is simply who allows me to pass to and fro.”

“Why you, in particular?” asked V. “It is a little convenient. Your appearance, that is.”

Bea hesitated. She clenched and unclenched her hands, then whirled away, her back to them as she weighed just what to say.

“...Blood calls blood,” she said, finally. “Especially that blood. It was faint, but I could feel it. Mundus had hordes seeking the sons of Sparda. Surely, you must remember.”

“Intimately,” said V, in hollow voice.

Bea turned back, hand raised as though she’d like to touch him. Then, as though recalling how badly Vergil had reacted to the last time she’d touched his cheek, she settled for holding her elbows instead. “Better I answer, before another did, and better I find you, before another does. There is no one sitting on the throne of Hell. Everyone wonders who will. If the Demon King won’t…”

V’s head came up.

“You mean…” he began.

But Bea held a hand to her lips.

“Shh. Not here,” she said, gently. “You have no reason to trust me. But I hope you can at least believe me when I say this: I couldn’t ever do that child the slightest bit of harm. Even if I wanted to. Which I decidedly don’t! So, please, follow me a little longer?”

“Okay,” said Tony.

Bea blinked.

“Was just curious what you’d say,” said Tony. “Not like we can change our minds at this point.”

“I… see,” she said.

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Tony. “You double cross us. We’ll ante up.”

“‘The fool who persists in his folly will become wise,’” quoted V, with the air of a particularly exasperated Church lady. “Why not?”

“But you seem to have some kind of dog in this fight,” said Tony. “And you haven’t screwed us over yet. So, yeah. Let’s get on with it!"

 

* * *

 

 

The next gate took them to an empty field of white salt. The rock was flat and glossy. The skies were stormy and grey. Their footprints left dark red trails in the salted earth.

“"Nevermind. She screwed us,” said Tony. “This is going to be a fight.”

“What makes you so sure?” asked V.

“Thaaat gives me a pretty good idea,” said Tony, pointing.

He looked along their shadows stretching across the pale expanse. There, waiting for them in the center of the circle, was a demon in red.

At least, they had to assume she was a demon. She wore red armor, blooming around her in the parody of some queenly gown. Her crown was fused to her helmet, golden horns twisting backwards. Her hair, a jointed carapace, which fell all the way down to the ground, lashing like a tail.

Her face was little more than a steely mask.

“...You…” she whispered, in a staticky, faraway voice. “You’ve… come…”

Tony looked at V. V looked at Tony in identical confusion. The demon turned. Her skirts left a half moon of red as it stirred the salt under her feet. Her high, taloned heels crunched as she faced them.

“...Remember… me…?” she asked. Her voice faded in and out, like a badly tuned radio. Tony could only make out every other word.

“Come again?” asked Tony.

The ground began to shake.

“...My… name…?” asked the red demon. She began to advance. A weapon shimmered, appearing in her hand. An axe. Blood red like the rest of her. “Do… you… know… my… name…”

“Lady, I’m not even sure what my name is right now,” said Tony, he stood as ready as he could, hands up. What was he going to do. Kung fu fight her? Well, he could try. He glanced at V, wondering if he could pull out any more of those cane tricks, but V was too busy staring at the demon, peering at her. He tilted his head to one side.

“Choose,” said V.

The demon screamed and swung her axe.

Tony just managed to tackle V out of the path. The demon skidded out, whirling in several circles before she came to a stop.

“What was that?!” yelled Tony.

“Demons with no name can choose a new one,” said V. “Under a certain authority. I thought it might work.”

“Yeah, well, try something else!”

The red demon re-shouldered her axe, and turned to face them, her head tilted to one side. She took one slow step, then another. Her head tilted to the other side. The gauntleted hand over the axe’s tightened.

“...Don’t…. Remember…” she hissed, behind her helm. “...Ugly… Forgotten... Ugly ugly ugly!”

“Because I sure haven’t met any crazy queen of hearts types recently,” added Tony.

The red demon began to pick up speed. Her heels scraping against the salted ground. Her trailing gown left a bloody streak across the ground.

“Oh,” said V as she closed in. Tony grabbed at him, but V stabbed his walking stick into the ground. He didn’t move. Tony could see their reflection in the bloodied axe, as the red demon slung it loose and wound it back, ready to behead them both in one strike.

“Alice,” said V.

The axe froze mid swing.

“Her name was Alice,” said V, his face blank as he lifted his walking stick and pressed the very tip of it to the red demon’s chestplate. “And she wasn’t a demon. Not for her lacking of trying. Such a sad end to make of it. Though it’s true you would’ve found your way here eventually. Did you really come here on your own?”

“You…” husked the the armored woman. The gauntleted hand loosened. The axe went clattering. When it hit the ground, it turned to smoke. One armored hand reached for V’s face, but it stopped short. The helmet tilted from one side to the other in confusion. “You… know me? Who… who are you…?”

“Another wanderer,” said V. “Nothing more.”

The woman began to laugh. Her hands fell to her sides. She staggered from one side, to the other. Then, bit by bit, the armor began to fall away. Piece by piece, it fell to the ground, until it was nothing more than a red pile. This disappeared into smoke.

There wasn’t anything underneath. Nothing but V’s shadow.

“....An illusion, then,” he said. “Taken from the heart.”

Ahead of them, the stone lions appeared.

“Soooo, going to explain that one?” asked Tony.

“The witch pulled someone forgotten from our hearts to see if we could remember them,” said V.

“I get that,” said Tony. “I want to know: Who the hell is Alice?”

“You don’t remember,” said V, flatly.

“Should I?”

V sighed. “‘Active evil is better than passive good,’” he muttered. Tony actually recognized that one. Wow, he was pissed. “Let's just say she was someone I met along time ago. Maybe it’s inevitable. But I’m glad I haven’t found her here yet.”

“Yet,” said Tony, who remembered just then that they were currently in hell.

V shrugged as he made for the gate. “She wasn’t a very good person. But I suppose I’d had some hope for her.”

“Hope?”

“Hope she’d find some home to return to,” said V. “Since I knew I never would.”


	5. Beatrice am I, who do bid thee go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only way out is through.

The next test involved a life-sized chess set they had to position in the exact right sequence to progress. It belonged to a ‘Witch of the Mind,’ Roslyn, who’d cheated death until she lost a match. Tony decided he hated her on principle.

“Reminds me of that friggin’ tower,” said Tony, as he shoved the next piece in place. Since this was obviously demon-chess, not human chess, the knights had horns and beetle wings. Looked a little like dad, now that he thought about it. “Never did thank you for that.”

“I wasn’t responsible for them,” said V, who, having declared himself unable to shove the chess pieces around, had found himself a nice little space at the feet of one of the unholy bishops to watch the proceedings and direct accordingly. He hadn’t been completely useless at it. “We have our dear father to thank for that.”

“And Mallet Island?”

“While I appreciate remembering such a high point in my life, that one was also father.” V pointed with his walking stick. “That one, over there.”

“You sure?” V nodded. Tony started shoving the tower piece -- it did look a little like the Temen ni Gru, now that he thought about it. “The old man really had a thing for this kind of bullshit, didn’t he.”

V’s lips twitched. “Demons don’t often have the mindset for them.”

“You’re telling me. I’m the one that got stuck in that one he set up in the basement.”

“Is that why I got so much reading in that day?”

Tony glared. V smiled, faintly, and climbed down from the bishop. He wove his way around the chess pieces, inspecting each of them carefully.

“I was trapped in the one he set up in the attic,” he admitted. “It used a sundial.”

He tapped another one of the knights. Tony looked at it a good long time, before shoving his back against it and pushing it forward and across.

“Yeah, those ones are probably about the worst. Were there three of them? Bet there were three of them. There!” The last piece sunk into its square. The white squares glowed. The black squares shattered. The two lions appeared on the far end of the board. Tony bent to catch his breath. V came up and patted him on the back.

“...How about… the block puzzle… he set up… Between our room… and the goddamn bathroom,” husked Tony. “Who makes… a three year old… do…. a block puzzle.”

“How’d you do?”

“How do you think it went?” asked Tony. “Wet myself after an hour.”

“That explains why mother banned those in the house,” said V.

“Guess so.”

Tony picked himself up. They passed through to the next stage.

* * *

 

 

“You seem surprised to see us,” remarked V. They found Bea pacing by the next gate. She spun when they came in, immediately crossing her arms as though she’d been waiting that way all along.

“Happily so,” she said.

“Nice save,” said Tony.

“I must admit, that one was never one of my favorites,” admitted Bea. “...and I didn’t liked the ones with the sundials, either.”

“So you were watching us,” said V. His hand tightened faintly on his stick. It was the only hint of irritation in his otherwise quite chill performance.

“My job as an observer,” Bea reminded them. “I can’t say I enjoy it terribly much, though. It’s so frustrating. I just want to yell hints the whole time.”

“Could you?” asked Tony. “Wouldn’t turn down the help.”

Bea sighed. “If only… But it’s not how things are done here. I can tell you the next one is going to be a bit, mm, uncomfortable.”

“What, is it a BDSM thing?”

V bit the inside of his cheek. Bea stared at him for a good ten seconds before she covered her mouth.

“No,” she managed. “It is not a BDSM thing.”

* * *

  
The witch’s name was Eurydice and the trial was on paper (well, stone) and was traditional: tread the path one after the other. Don’t look back.

(Tony read the tomb and whistled. “Impulse control, eh? Guess I’m taking the lead on this one.”

“I wasn’t aware you were the picture of restraint,” remarked V.

“Compared to you I’m a goddamn ascetic.”

V had to allow that Tony had a point.

“Don’t leave me in the dust,” he said, but his smirk wasn’t quite as smug as usual.)

Tony did just fine for the first hour or so. The path was windy, sure, but a brisk walk was nice after all that running and jumping. It’s not like Tony didn’t have things he could ramble about to pass the time. Talking to avoid thinking had been one of Tony Redgrave’s finest past times -- the last time he’d actually been Tony Redgrave. Think about the next job. Think about your new coat. Think about your guns, your ammo. Think about seeing Nell. Think about Grue, the kids...ah, damn. Anything that wasn’t thinking about that past you didn’t want to remember. That past you were told to throw away, anyway.

Think about that old pizza joint on the corner.

“Kind of wonder if it’s still there,” said Tony. “If it is -- think they cater? Maybe we can get the kid in on it. If we’re going to throw a big bash when we’re back, got to have something we can really eat.”  
It was around then that Tony realized he hadn’t heard a response from V. He hadn’t heard footsteps, either. Or breathing. Or anything that could indicate he was still behind him at all.

“So that’s the game,” said Tony, into the empty air. “Probably some magic barrier dampening the sound. That’s fine. That’s cool. I know it’s fake. Anyway…”

But after another hour, he realized he’d lost the path. It had grown crowded by blackened hell trees. Cousins to the Qliphoth, but more spindly. They crowded in, writhing under Tony’s boots and pulling at his clothes. He stumbled a few times as his feet caught the roots.

“Still back there, V?” No reply. Tony didn't expect one. “Careful with the cane. I know this trick. You want me to think he got tripped up and left behind somewhere. Not happening.”

Tony started singing through the tracks of that Elena Huston album he had on vinyl from memory. Badly. He made it another hour or so doing that. That was around the time it started to get dark. Really dark. Not just ‘middle of the night in the country,’ but ‘dark at the end of times.’ He couldn’t make out the sky from the ground. He was only reasonably sure where his feet would connect. No sign of V.

“That’s fine, that’s cool,” said Tony. “Hey, V! Get a load of this! Primal fears. Bet they think I’m afraid of the dark. Whatever, man. I’m part demon. I’ve been able to see in the dark for most of my life.”

Nevermind that time he was locked in a cupboard for twelve hours.

Still, the air started to get a little thicker. Still, Tony marched on. That was around the time the noises started. At first it was the standard spook stuff. Children giggling. Mom. Horrible squelching demon noises. Wasn’t any worse than the real thing had been, so that was easy enough to ignore. Then the noises started forming words. At first it was just his name: ‘Tony, hey, Tony.’ Or ‘Dante, Dante…’ The usual cast he expected. His mother, check. Some approximation as to what his father probably sounded like? He could barely remember that, but check. Vergil? Check.

“Like he isn’t right behind me,” said Tony.

But was he? The voices wondered. Was he really back there?

“Until I look back he is,” said Tony.

But maybe he decided to turn around. Maybe he changed his mind.

“He wants out, too.”

...But do you?

“Eh?”

Do you want him out, Tony (Dante)? Do you think he’ll really stay with you once he’s himself again? What about strength? What about power? Where will you go, once you’re free?

“Boy, you haven’t been paying attention. To help Nero, remember?”

And after that?

“Morrison’s probably kept the office in decent shape.”

Do you really think he’ll go with you? Do you really think someone like that will ever really be satisfied with a dirty office and bad pizza?

“It’s all right!”

He’ll get bored. He’ll leave. He’s already left you twice. He’ll leave you a third time. He’s never been satisfied with anything in this life, or even the next. Why let him get one over on you again? Why not leave him first, this time, so he can know what it’s like.

Tony stopped.

“All right,” he said, into the emptiness.

Then he shut his eyes and sat down, crossing his legs. He waited five minutes. Then ten minutes. Thirty. Another hour. The voices hovered uncertainly around him. What are you doing? Why have you stopped?

“Because you want me to ditch him,” said Tony. “If he’s here, he’ll catch up. If he’s not I’ll wait for him to find me. I said I’d keep an eye on him, and we owe each other another match. So what’s what I’m going to do. Either we both get out, or neither of us do. Someone told us to find another way. So that’s what I’ll do.”

What. What. What.

“Get stuffed,” suggested Tony, helpfully. He reached back with one hand.

And found V’s, resting behind him. He could feel him leaned against his back.

The darkness shattered instantly. They sat back to back, the next gate ahead of them.

Tony grinned and flicked the top of V’s hand.

“So,” he said. “Little less traditional than usual. Think you’ll vanish if I look back?”

“Want to test it?” asked V, loud and clear, and maybe -- Tony could hear the slight catch in his breath -- just a little relieved.

“You vanish, I’m going with you,” said Tony. “Let’s blow this joint.”

* * *

 

Tony held onto V’s wrist until they’d passed through.

Bea slept at the foot of one of the lions, her knees tucked against her chest. She woke up when they hauled their way through, peering up through the pile of hair that’d fallen in her face.

“And V?” she asked Tony. Tony presented V a little like a trophy.

“Still here,” said Tony.

“Evidently,” said V. “Your stubbornness has carried the day.”

“So what’s next,” said Tony. “Final exam? Trial by fire? Fight to the death?”

Bea’s relieved smile faded into a grim line.

“A little of all three,” she confessed.

* * *

 

The final gate was Ereshkigal’s throne room.

Ereshkigal sat on a throne of bone. Actually, as far as bones made from the parts of once living things, it was pretty classy. Bleached and polished white. No dripping blood. The arms were carved in the shape of lion heads. The back was even elegantly curved so she could recline, and there was a lot of demon to recline. Ereshkigal was about two storeys high. For a goddess of death, she was surprisingly animated. Like most of the more major powerful demons, she liked to disguise the more chaotic aspects of her seething power in smooth, beautiful casing. Unlike Mundus, who’d been vain enough favored renaissance sculpture, and Argosax, who’d been pompous enough to go with liquid gold and fire, Ereshkigal went for a classier gold and black and blue, with elaborate blue detailing all up and down her body. Her main body stretched out under her like a lion, all four lion’s paws arranged together in that comfortable posture only a cat could manage. That wasn’t the end of her limbs, though. The top half of her body was decidedly woman: muscular, powerful woman, leaned elegantly against the arm of her throne. The hand draped over the end was covered in countless bracelets and ended in brutal bird’s talons. Her wings -- because of course she had them -- were crossed over her shoulders like a cloak. Her face was an expressionless mask -- quite literally, shaped like an owl -- but beneath that mask Tony could make out what looked to be a true flesh-and-blood mouth, pressed into a cool, appraising line.

All of this, was of course, second to the intense power that radiated off of every inch of her. Even as human as he now was, Tony could feel it, and man did it raise the hairs on the back of the neck.

Hell of a pokerface on that one.

"This way,” said Bea, gesturing to steps that led up to the Underworld Queen and her empty court. “And Tony, my dearest, let me do the talking, won’t you?”  
“Whatever you say,” said Tony. “Lady sure looks like royalty at least.” Under this much pressure, he was running low on smartass quips, anyway. Tony felt a sudden extra pressure on his arm. He tensed -- but it was only V, who’d found himself particularly frail.

“‘The tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction,’” gasped V, staring up through his hair in a mix of awe and annoyance at his own weakness. “Seems we’re at your mercy.”

“Her mercy,” Bea corrected. She marched on ahead, taking the next step with a bit of a spring. When she reached the appropriate amount -- three it seemed like -- she spread her arms and bent expertly into a bow, one that looked especially flashy, with all her fringe. “Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld, Lady of the Heavens, Guardian of the Seven Gates, and that in-between world upon which the hopeful wander--”

“Hey, V, add that one to your repertoire,” whispered Tony.

“I find it a little overdone,” said V, with a somewhat devilish twist of his lips.

“--this servant has returned to you as promised! And she comes bearing two whom submit to your judgment. They have passed your trials, relinquished your power, and now stand before you bared, humbled, and ready to accept your judgment, whatever that might be, mighty queen.”

And, slowly, that statue turned her head. The mask had no movable eyes, but Tony nevertheless could feel whatever was behind them narrow. She probably had like, twenty eyes under all that armor. The bigger, nastier demons always did once their power exceeded their physical form, but there wasn’t that pulsing sense of desperation or insecurity in Ereshkigal, that thirst for blood or for dominance: only a steady, almost serene collective strength. A serenity that felt like the haze of ozone before a thunderstorm, anyway.

Despite Bea’s presence on the dais, Tony found, all at once, he really missed Trish.

“These trials were made for the Umbra Sisters,” said the demon Ereshkigal, in a voice that sounded like two women speaking in unison. One with a deep, earthy voice, and the other high and fluting, “You have brought me two men.”  
Power, intent, now beating down on Bea so completely her golden head flinched a little under its intensity. V’s walking stick slid a half inch forward. Tony’s hand went for his pretty useless gun. Bea gathered herself and straightened, her arm still folded in front of her chest in a gesture of fealty.

“That may be, great Ereshkigal,” she said, with sweet confidence that made Tony want to shout a warning, because the big demons never rewarded blind faith, “but I believe you will find these two an exception. You will find their blood favors them.”

A creak. The woman half of Ereshkigal leaned slowly forward.

“If you mean that they are the sons of Sparda,” said the demon, her two voices reflecting equal suspicion, “that means naught to me. What interest have I in that old power? The throne of Hell interests me little. The greater the strength, the greater the weight of ambition to crush you. If you seek to bribe me with the blood of traitors, girl, you have failed. If you seek to flatter me with honeyed words, you will find my ears stuffed with clay. Pride is the sweet sin of those lands in the West from whence you came, but bringing the unworthy to a hallowed ground, that is universal.”

There it was. As clear as the blazing three eyes that had appeared over the demon Gryphon, a second before his master had struck him down for his plea. Tony started forward, but Bea’s hand came out sharply.

“No,” she said, fiercely. “That’s not what I mean. They wish to return home!”

“Through a grave not offered to them,” hissed Ereshkigal.

“Through a grave I offer them,” cried Bea. “On my authority--! On my own power--! On my true name, which you well know!”

“Your power.” The cat paws rearranged themselves on the chair, her maned shoulder blades appeared, no longer the liquid poise of a feline in repose. “You are an observer. That the role you are bound to, on the conditions of your place here. Keep to it, and I will ignore this transgression. Power means nothing to me! The grace to relinquish it, everything. With their power, they are the demonborn heirs to war and pride, neither of which have a place here. Without their power, they are but men, who belong here even less! Stand aside. If these men wish to earn my attention, let them attempt it in the only way men understand.”

The queen’s tail began to lash. Her wings lifted from her shoulders. She slid from her throne, her entire body rippling as she went. As she went, her tail briefly dipped behind the arm of one of her throne, pulling out a long white spear. She passed it to her human arm, and held it high.

“Not on the terms we agreed on,” said Bea, and despite everything, she fell into a combat stance. She’d given up on humble. A pair of golden swords appeared in her hands, both dangling red jewelry. “Ereshkigal, darling. Your marvelous on a good day, but we really must talk--”

The demon queen sent her flying with one vicious swipe of her spear. Bea hit one of the far columns with a sickening crack. She slid down, slumping. Her golden weapons disintegrated into strands of stringy hair. Tony hadn’t even made it all the way up the next step. He hadn’t even come close to saving her.

He never did, with blondes like her.

“I will not warn you again,” roared Ereshkigal, not even looking at the smaller demon as she fell forward in a crumpled pile. The strength of the cry sent Tony crashing back down the stairs. V clutched his cane to stay on his feet, hair whipping in his eyes. Ereshkigal advanced, all four paws on the stone.

“Cast aside your power and pride, oh fragile children of men,” she rumbled, “I, Ereshkigal, shall be the judge of your unworthy flesh.”

* * *

 

It was more or less a route. Tony hated to admit it. They could dodge well enough. Tony Redgrave hadn’t known bullets couldn’t kill him and V was light enough on his feet, but it seemed like every one of Ereshkigal’s roars threw them farther and farther back. Ereshkigal’s spear attacks, while well telegraphed, kept enough distance between them that made any kind of feeble physical attack impossible, and she hadn’t even bothered to use her wings.

She was, Tony realized miserably, toying with them.

“Like a cat with a mouse,” growled Tony, the second time he had to catch V. “This just pisses me off.”

“…Without strength you cannot protect anything,” said V, his face whiter than usual, eyes dark with an old, blank despair.

Somehow that pissed Tony off even more.

“Don’t start that bullshit again!” he growled. “Hey, kitten, we did your stupid trial! I think we deserve a fair shot, don’t you?”

He threw his arms out and strutted forward. It was audacious enough the demon paused, her head cocked to one side.

Tony raised his hand. If he didn’t have the power of Sparda or of any of his assorted weaponry on his side, he could at least channel the one thing he had left to him: the power of being an angry Italian man.

“What gives? For all this talk about dad’s power being beneath you, you sure seem happy to hang onto it,” called Tony. “If the trial’s off, so’s that deal. Fork it over!”

“Tony,” called V, in warning. There couldn’t have possibly been a worse thing to say. Ereshkigal did spread her wings this time, surging forward with a firm, no doubt practically fatal, spear thrust.

Tony dropped backwards and let the weapon pass over him. He grabbed ahold of the spear it went. Ereshkigal pulled it back, completed the arc of the lunge with perfect follow through, and, while Tony dangled from the weapon’s shaft, he aimed a really perfect set of his really old combat boots right for the demon’s stupid masked face.

The clang echoed across the throne room.

His boots stayed planted against the owl-mask. The mask had gone up an inch, maybe two. The strip of skin exposed beneath was beautiful, unbroken, unbruised brown skin. The lips twitched into something resembling a smirk. Then Ereshkigal wrapped her fist around Tony’s waist and slammed him into the ground.

Something gave. Actually a few things gave. Ah, hell. Tony had forgotten he was human. He couldn’t just shake off a stunt like that. His head rang, blood beat in his eyes. Ereshkigal loomed over him. She reshouldered her spear proper, the cruel bone-cut edge of it now aimed squarely for his chest.

No more playing.

He’d forgotten what it was like when a hole through the chest was more than a minor inconvenience.

He wondered how long he’d last.

But the all-too-familiar hot punch through the chest never came, because V managed somehow to get up enough strength into those frail knees to get between him and the spear. That could’ve been more annoying. Should’ve been more annoying, V had a stick for God’s sake, but somehow as V held the walking stick up sideways in both hands to receive the coming blow something happened. The world seemed to slow down. Actually, it did slow down. A wobbly field expanded from the point where V’s stick connected with the spear’s point. Tony blinked, and V was standing over him as a hopeless case. Tony blinked again, and all of the sudden the spear was buried into the stone step. The same stone step where Tony had been lying a second ago. He was now slightly to the right, his arm slung over V’s shoulder.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Tony. “What did you do?”

“I…” V’s hair fluttered around his face. “I’m not sure…”

Ereshkigal dislodged her spear, lips twisting in mild confusion. She only took half a second, before one of her front paws came down at them. V raised his cane again, this time when Tony managed a (painful, he had to admit, damnit, he forgot how much damage from a fall could hurt when it lasted more than a second) ragged breath, they were all at once down a step. This time Ereshkigal hesitated, her lion’s tail low and the end twitching.

“Witch time,” she murmured. “So that is what she meant. The blood favors you after all.

“‘No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings,’” said V, his arm tight around Tony’s shoulder. “That’s a new one.”

Tony was relatively sure he had no idea what she was talking about.

Whatever indecision stayed Ereshkigal’s spear for a moment ended there.

“It matters not,” she said. “Born with it or not, there are no men among the Umbra order. Your birth remains anathema. Perish, for your arrogance!”

Black flames bloomed around her. Power gathered at the point of the spear. The heat alone made Tony gasp. A devil trigger. Great. He reached for his belt and offered V one of his guns.

“Could always throw it,” said Tony, staring into the crackling, whirling tip of the spear as it bloomed into a blender-like blade. “Once.”

Somehow, despite everything, V managed a crooked smile.

The spear stopped an inch away from their faces, held back by a set of gold chains.

Bea stood on the shaft, one leg raised in a strange parody of a kung fu kick.

“I really do hate an uneven fight,” she said, and cocked the gun on her shoes with a sharp jerk of her heel. “Don’t you?”

She fired at Ereshkigal’s face.

The bullet just bounced off the mask, but it was enough to make her rear onto her hind legs in outrage.

“…How dare you!”

Bea flipped off the spear, swinging on the gold chains. They fell apart as she reached the apex of the swing, rematerializing as pieces of mildly burned hair as she landed in a flutter beside them. She shook out the seared pieces with a frown.

“Ohhh, I really do hate when that happens. How bothersome. I can’t exactly grow anymore, these days. Ah well.” Then, looking at Tony and V, her eyes softened. She knelt, touching V’s arm. “That wasn’t bad, for a first try.”

Ereshkigal attempted another blow. This time, after a blink, Tony found they were seated on the throne itself, protected by a shield of -- yup, that was definitely hair. Damn, Bea really had been holding back.

V didn’t seem to notice those little details, he was staring at Bea, his eyes wide. “What is it?”

“The strength you have always had in this form,” she said. “Those marks over your body. You used them as your medium, didn’t you?”

“It was the ink…” he began. “The last of my demonic strength.”

“Ummmm…” said Tony. Ereshkigal had just noticed they were in her chair. She made a low growl like a lion. She didn’t seem too happy about it. Cushion was comfy though. Tony slouched. It was beginning to hurt to breathe. Ereshkigal charged. Welp.

“No,” said Bea. She took V’s face in her hands, combing his hair out of his eyes. “You didn’t get that from your father. Let me show you. I can do that for you, at least. Dance with me, my little love. One, two, three…!”

A spear went flying, but this time it wasn’t Ereshkigal’s. It came from V’s hand, extended ahead of them. It came from Bea’s hand, too, covering V’s, lending him some strength, or some knowledge, as a silver and gold spiral stabbed straight out at the charging demon queen.

Her mask clattered to the ground.

* * *

 

The face beneath it wasn’t made of roiling darkness or a thousand eyes. She looked like a beautiful ancient queen, bronze skin and black eyes. Her braided hair fell down her shoulders. Her perfectly manicured eyebrow was presently raised in disbelief.

“You’ve just violated your terms,” said Ereshikigal, twirling the tip of her spear idly.

“I know,” said Bea. “But you forced my hand.”

“I could hang you up over my gate,” said Ereshkigal.

“You could,” said Bea. “I’m sure I deserve it, but I’d do it again for them. You know that.”

Ereshkigal bent to pick up her mask. The light shimmered over the new dent punched square between the owl’s eyes. Scowling, the demon queen threw it over her shoulder.

“…So you lay your very existence down for these foolish children,” said Ereshkigal. “I suppose that will do.”

She passed the spear back to her tail and held up her hand. The throne room, the steps, everything, dissolved into a warming mist. Tony felt as though his consciousness must have dissolved with it. He listed, slouching forward, he was vaguely aware of someone catching him just before he face-planted, but who knew, who cared, he was just going to rest his eyes, just for a little bit.

Dante blinked awake. The air smelled awful. Rosemary. Ugh. They must’ve been burning it in the braziers. He buried his face into the fabric under his face, hoping it might block out the stench.

Someone’s shoulder, he realized. A slight shoulder, but a strong one. Bea. She had her arms around him, her hand balled in the back of his now much better fitted leather coat. He blinked awake. There was really no mistaking her for Trish, despite appearances. Trish wasn’t exactly the cuddly type, and more power to her for that.

“Hey,” he said, forcing himself to blink awake. His eyesight wasn’t any sharper than usual, but he could breathe again at least. Even better, after giving it a little martial thought, he could feel the hot coal of his sword materialize in his hand. He laid it down next to him. “I’m me again. So. Did we pass?’

“Hardly,” came a familiar voice to his left. Vergil, tucked against Bea’s other shoulder. She had them wrapped up in both her arms, her shawl covering them like a blanket. Vergil must’ve been tired, because he hadn’t thrown her off. He shut his eyes and gripped Yamato, laying along the stone next to his knee. “But we weren’t the ones on trial were we?”

Bea let them go. They were still on their knees.

“Seems so,” she said, with a sad smile. “C’est la vie. I guess I lied to you after all.”

Ereshkigal cleared her throat.

The three of them looked up. They were no longer in the throne room, but rather an empty meadow full of white grass. If you ignored the red in the sky and the dark purple ground, it almost reminded Dante of the farm where they grew up. Ahead of them was another witch tomb, black against the horizon, and Ereshkigal, waiting.

She’d taken a more human form. She’d reformed her mask. She’d refashioned her spear into a more reasonable staff. The wings stayed -- because of style, Dante had to assume.

“What did you expect?” asked Ereshkigal. “It was a trial for those of the underworld. You are still very much alive, and it seems you would risk your fragile existence to ensure it stay that way. You would even risk defying me, who could pin you up for all the rest of eternity.”

“Of course,” said Bea, standing up. Dante noticed then she was careful to keep herself between him and Vergil. Vergil, he noticed, stayed sitting with his knees under him. He didn’t seem to want to look up just then. “I promised I’d take them home.”

“Make no mistake,” said Ereshkigal, “I am the queen of this realm, and you did strike me. For that, I must punish you.”

“Oh, c’mon, lady--” started Dante, but Bea put her hand over her lips in a way that reminded him so much of mom it stopped him cold.

“One hundred years added to your service,” said Ereshkigal, imperiously, “and I shall consider adding more or less, dependent on your behavior.”

“My lady,” started Bea, eyes wide, and then after a moment she made a rather hurried curtsy. “I humbly accept your judgment.”

“‘Humbly,’” said Ereshkigal, and Dante had the distinct impression that under that mask, the demon queen was rolling her eyes. “Hmph. You had best keep me entertained. You came so highly recommended.”

“I will do my best, my lady,” said Bea. “But may they go? They don’t belong here.”

“I will allow it.” The mask turned to Dante and Vergil. “I suspect they would make an unholy mess if they stayed.”

Vergil twitched. Dante shrugged. Bea’s eyes came alive with the gratitude she’d done so well to hide up until then. “Oh, my lady, thank you!”

“Finally, some respect,” said Ereshkigal, and before Dante could really get going, she vanished, leaving just the swaying grass, and the grave.

 

* * *

 

The grave had been cracked. The lid had sunk into the tomb. Dante peered into it. He couldn’t see a bottom. He flicked a piece of stone into it. No sound. Well, that was typically ominous.

“So all we have to do is climb in?”

“It will take you to the surface, yes,” said Bea. “As it took the witch it once held.”

“I ever mention I hate tight spaces?”

“It’s roomier than it looks,” promised Bea.

Dante set his boot on the side. Then he thought better of it and looked back

“You could come with us,” said Dante, as though he just thought about it. “Between you and Trish, it might be a little fun to have an army of tall blondes. I know a certain lady who would have a field day with it.”

Bea shook her head. “Queen’s rules, here. I’m bound to her service.”

“We could kick her ass,” said Dante.

“It doesn’t work that way.

“Okay, Vergil could kick her ass,” said Dante.

“Very probably,” agreed Vergil. He got that dangerous, thoughtful look. Bea laughed.

“You two are incorrigible,” she said. “I have no doubt, in these forms, you very well could! But she is a fair ruler. We need those, here in Hell. I’d recommend letting her stay here a little longer.”

Her eyes lingered on Vergil.

“…And it would close this path,” she said. “You should go see that boy. He seemed to very much want you back. I’d hate to deny him. He asked so nicely.”

“Nero? Ask nicely?” Dante slapped his leg at the thought.

“Hmph,” said Vergil, but his shoulder dropped slightly as he fell out of the battle stance. That was an answer in of himself. Regretfully, Dante shook his head.

“Guess this is goodbye, then,” said Dante. “And thanks. Not sure what all that was really about, but I’m pretty sure we owe you.”

“Just doing my job, fine citizen,” said Bea. She crossed her arms and puffed out her chest. Then after a moment, she grinned. “But if you’re in the business of returning favors…”

“Here we go,” said Vergil, but there was no real heat in it.

Bea swept forward and put her arms around Dante. She leaned up, took his face, kissed one cheek, and then the other. When she pulled away, Dante felt a weight in his hand.

“Give that to the boy who called on me,” she said. “A gift. Not a curse. Promise.”

“Your promises are highly suspect,” remarked Vergil.

But when it was his turn, he actually let her put her arms around him. She didn’t kiss him, but got up on her toes to whisper something in his ear. She stayed there for a bit. When she pulled away, Vergil’s eyes were particularly blank.

“Safe travels,” she said. “Don’t look back.”

* * *

 

They passed through the grave. Strange, the second they jumped into it, gravity reoriented itself so they landed on their feet. Funny how that worked. Umbra witches. Time and space. It was one of those things.

Dante couldn’t make out the end of the tunnel. The only light came from the entrance behind them. Hell’s light, red and throbbing. He heard a thump. Vergil stood beside him, knees bent as though he’d expected to break a fall. When he realized Dante was watching him he straightened and pretended to inspect the smoothed walls. Nice try.

“Pretty roomy for a grave,” said Dante. The tunnel was a perfect square, the shape of a large tomb. Despite that, there was room enough for them to stand side by side.

“Has to be,” said Vergil, who was wearing the same blank, distracted look he’d had since Bea had hugged him. “Whoever it belonged to was pulled all the way to hell.”

The hooks had left large grooves in the walls. Dante reached up to tap the ceiling. Seemed solid enough. He took a careful step forward. Nothing, except grave dirt and the wreckage of the chains and lid from whatever busted the former occupant loose.

“Last stop,” he said. “Hell of a way to go, that’s for sure.”

“They knew what they signed up for.”

“Do we?”

Vergil glanced at him.

“You ready?” asked Dante. “To go back?”

“You’re asking me that now?”

Dante shrugged. “Last chance to change your mind.”

Vergil looked ahead into the darkness. He touched his hand to Yamato. Then he dropped it to his side and nodded, slowly.

“It’s funny, Dante. You never know what’s enough, until you know what’s more than enough,” he said.

“Heh, great phrase,” said Dante. “That from your book?”

“Paraphrased,” said Vergil, without looking at him. “But Nero wants us back. Until I beat him, I have to do what he says. Isn’t that right? …Yes. I’m ready.”

Dante grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “All right, let’s roll.”

They started down the tunnel.

“So what did Bea say to you, back there? For a second there I thought maybe she’d turned you into one of those shades...”

Vergil paused as he toed his way around the rubble. “She’d have been welcome to try,” he said, but when Dante kept looking at him with that expectant tilt of his head, he relented. “‘I finally found you.’”

The brothers walked in the awkward silence of an uncomfortable revelation. Vergil forced himself ahead of Dante, as though he could put some distance from that creeping suspicion.

“And you?” Vergil asked over his shoulder. “What did she give you?”

Dante held up the ring in his hand. Simple, small, made for a very thin, delicate hand. In the fading light behind them, he couldn’t quite make out the inscription on the inside, but he could see the gold band, engraved to look like a set of demon horns, or an angel’s halo. Hard to say which.

“Nice piece of jewelry,” said Dante, turning it over in his hand. The inset stone was a dark red. “You know, it almost looks like something Mom used to…”

Dante stopped.

“Whose grave is this?” he asked, very slowly.

Vergil had stopped a few paces behind him. A piece of the tomb’s broken lid lay wedged against the wall. He knelt to look at it. It was streaked with dirt and blood. He reached over pressed his hand to the dusty stone, and dragged it down.

From the now exposed engraving, Vergil read.

“Here lies Eva,

Our Umbra Sister,

The Witch Whom Bound The Dark Knight.

And Fell Facing The Legions of Hell”

Dante whipped around. Vergil followed. They made back for the entrance of the grave as fast as they could. In that square of light, Bea still stood, watching them. Bea, who hadn’t stopped watching them. Bea. Who wasn’t really a demon, who wasn’t even called Bea. Why was she further away? Why was she getting farther? Further and further. It should’ve only taken them a second to reach her. Dante broke into a run beside his brother, but every step seemed to take her farther away.

“Mom--!” shouted Dante. “Mom, wait--”

Eva clasped her hands together under her chin. Her eyes were bright with tears, but she was smiling.

“Dante, Vergil,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”

And, like that damn cupboard, the edges of the portal closed between them, and she was only another memory.


	6. Paradiso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home.

The portal led back to the house. Of course it did. It’d been her grave.

The manor was still standing. Barely. Dante didn’t know why that surprised him, but it did. Ending Qliphoth’s distortions had fixed most of the large cracks and rifts in Red Grave City, but plenty of the battle damage remained. Somehow, though, the only damage the manor was the old stuff. The fire damage. The grass growing through floorboards. The gaps in the roof. The rotting cupboard. They’d fixed the rest of the city, but nobody had bothered to come back here. Why would they? It’d been a remote farmland on the outer edge, even back before the demons came. The first time, anyway. Dante stood on the shattered remains of the old stone fence and rubbed the kinks out of his shoulder. He whistled.

“Just keeps coming back to this place, don’t it? Hey, Vergil, look. The fence is up again -- Vergil?” Dante looked over his shoulder. Vergil wasn’t there. Dante’s face fell. He looked back behind him. Nothing. Dante started walking. He didn’t have to guess which direction.

He found Vergil in the shattered remains of the main hall, staring up at the painting over the mantle. There was dad, with his crazy Beethoven hair. There was the two of them, Vergil all nicely groomed, Dante having just been pulled out of a journey in the old dumbwaiter to sit for the stupid thing. He’d been told about that part. He couldn’t remember it himself.

He’d never asked if somehow Vergil could.

“We’d better get going." Buses never went out this far even when the city wasn’t completely trashed. “It’s going to be a hell of a walk.”

Vergil didn’t look at him. The wind blew through the hole in the roof, stirring his hair. He held Yamato in his hand. He held it up in front of himself, looking up, then down again.

Dante’s grin faltered. “Hey, why are you the one kicking yourself?” he asked. “You didn’t make a BDSM joke at Mom.”

Very slowly, Vergil sunk to one knee, then the other. With his hands clasped over the pommel of his sword it looked, just a little, like a cane. His hair didn’t fall in his face anymore, but he kept his head low, as though he could still hide his eyes behind it. Vergil made a deep, cracked noise somewhere in the back of his throat.

Dante whistled and held out his hand.

“Great,” said Dante, “And now it’s starting to rain.”

He put a hand on Vergil’s shoulder and looked up.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

* * *

 

“Okay you see the little wiggly bit?”

“Yeah?”

“Jiggle it to the left?”

“Like that?”

“To the left, dipshit.”

The engine gave a vague growl.

“Aw, yeah, genius at work.”

“Last I checked I’m the one up to my elbow in this thing’s guts,” said Nero.

Nico smirked. “Start paying my consultation fee and maybe I’ll do the heavy lifting again.”

“We are paying you!”

“Upfront,” Nico reminded him.

“Dinner’s ready,” called Kyrie from on high.

“There you go,” said Nero.

Nico threw a grease rag onto his face and unsnapped her fatigues.

“Great,” said Nico. “You finish up tightening those plugs and while I enjoy me some of the goods. With interest!”

“Don’t make yourself sick,” warned Nero.

Nico was already at the steps to the garage. “Can’t hear you. I’m on my way to steal your girl.”

Nero almost hit his head on the hood of the van. “She’s out of your league!”

“And out of yours!”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” grumbled Nero, into the engine. Kyrie was a goddess and everyone knew that. Fucking Nico. Fucking van. It seemed like it needed a fix after every mission. Sure it could take on a horde of ravening hellbats and a pack of hellhounds, but a dirt road with a slight incline? Get fucked, devil hunter.

Ah, well. Nero finished tightening the plugs and eased his way out from under the hood, giving the thing a companionable enough pat as he lowered. At least those last few missions had pulled a tidy sum. Enough to cover costs for the next few months, at least. Nero wondered how Dante always managed to be on the edge of destitution. It wasn’t that hard to save enough to keep the power going, at least, plus a few of the other extra expenses that month….

Nero picked the fallen grease towel off the floor and wiped at his hands. He paused. The hairs on his neck went up. He felt the presence at the garage door before he heard it. The shadow lingered outside, ragged and waiting.

Nero rolled his eyes and bunched the cloth off in his hand. “You need something?”

No answer. Nero sighed and crossed the garage, tossing the cloth into the bin.

“What is it you hungry?” Still nothing. “Heh, well, it’s your lucky day. Dinner’s ready and Kyrie always makes too much. Should be about enough. Even to feed a couple of bums like you.”

Nero felt the air stir. He slid his foot sideways. A spectral wing unfurled. Its claws caught the flying end of a sword’s sheath an inch away from his neck. The claws hung on tight. Nero raised his eyebrows at the pale man on the other end. Then he rolled his shoulder forward and shoved him backwards.

His opponent back stepped once and resheathed the sword. The business end had remained unused.

“Interesting,” said Vergil. “Your reflexes have improved.”

“You done?” asked Nero.

Vergil tilted his head. Then he nodded, just once.

“For now,” he added, like that wasn’t him backing down.

“Hola, kid,” said Dante, ducking under the garage door like his twin brother hadn’t just tried to whack Nero with a sword sheath as a friendly hello. “Long time no see. Heard you missed us, so we thought we’d drop by. Sounded like you could use some back-up.”

Nero banished his wings with a shrug. “Back-up my ass. You knuckleheads took your time.”

“Reception in Hell ain’t what it used to be,” said Dante. Vergil cast him a long, sideways look. “But your message got through loud and clear. You managed to hook the best damn messenger that side of the underworld.”

“And here I thought some occultist overcharged me for the honor of sticking my finger with a needle.”

“So ungrateful.” Dante spread his arms and turned in a half circle. Somehow, despite the strong stench of sulfur and-- was that rosemary? -- he managed to make the garage look too small for him. Vergil at least had the grace to look vaguely nonplussed. “Well, kid. Laugh it up. The cavalry’s here. Here. Something old and borrowed. It's been a long time coming."

He held out the ring.  Nero took it. He held it up to the light. He read the inscription. His eyes widened. He broke into a smile. Stupid and young. Just like him. He curled his newly formed fingers around the piece of jewelry and held it to his chest. Dante grinned.

“Something old, huh?” Nero looked between them both. He didn't dare let go of the ring. “Guess you’ll do. You’re in luck. The tux fittings tomorrow. We got some time to work you in to the ceremony.”

“The ceremony,” said Vergil, stiffening.

Nero smirked and rubbed his nose. When he led them up the steps to the sounds of children laughing and the smell of fresh homemade pasta, they both followed. “We wanted _someone_ to walk Kyrie the aisles. Got a problem with that?”

“Not a one,” said Dante.

“Good,” said Nero. “Because _you_ get to come up with a best man’s speech.”

“Wait, what?”

But at the end of the day, Dante didn’t say no. Family was family, after all.


End file.
